Springtime in Paris
by dijeron
Summary: It was not fate that day in Paris. There was no such thing as fate, only chance and irradiation. Still, this might be the best thing that ever happened to him. (It is the French Foreign Legion that suffers. Poor French Foreign Legion. But if I don't believe in T. E. Lawrence, how the hell should I believe in Beau Gest?)


Title: Springtime in Paris

Pairing: King Kong/Godzilla [Gojira]

Length: 535 words

_Apologies to the French Foreign Legion, but as they say, if I don't believe in T. E. Lawrence, how the hell can I believe in Beau Gest?_

_Continuity is a mix of all three series: Showa, Heisei and Millenium. Takes bits from all, and violates all as well (as is only to be expected, you know)._

_We'd like to thank and dedicate this to the ghost of Derrida. In all seriousness._

_(And of course you are aware that I don't own or make any claim to rights to either King Kong or the Toho monster movies?)_

* * *

Just as before, he arrived afterwards. Late upon the scene: second.

In truth, he was for the first time a little unsure of himself. The general had said that he was not himself; instead he was nothing more than the accumulated grudge of the Pacific dead from the war past. That his deeds were not his own, but the revenge of people killed long ago. That he was nothing more than a natural and autonomic karmic response.

He had not wanted to believe that-he certainly could not be easy in a world where those you killed, deliberately or no, cursed you. He didn't want to believe in curses; he'd wanted to believe in his own self. Still, the old general's judgment stuck with him as he regrouped (never a retreat, oh no: he would return), and he decided: a change of scenery would do good.

But here, in the City of Lights, the women fleeing in the streets were wearing too fashionable clothes, just the same, and while the weather might taste a little different, the buildings crumbled in a similar way. And he realized, and was sick at heart, that while the surroundings might change, it was what he carried with him, himself, that was troubling him.

It was then, that he saw that figure (that ape!) standing by the Eiffel Tower.

They fought, of course, as they had before. That was a given. It was their nature, just as it was in his to rise from the depths, and the others' to be captured again and again for the display and wonderment of the world. But the moment that a paw grasped his arm, he realized things were different. For he looked at him, and it was if his worries were measured, assessed, and then dismissed in that moment. "It's in our nature," that gaze seemed to say, "To destroy and to eat and to live! Forget these petty concerns, and let me show you."

Or perhaps that gaze said nothing, and that was all in the hopes of his heart.

It wasn't a fated encounter, for he would not believe in fate. No, there was no such thing, only chance and irradiation. And yet somehow it had felt right to find himself in the arms of this creature that he hardly knew, but was half of his name.

It was impossible and moreover inconvenient. First it was the rubble and the obstacles of colossal weight and physiology. But then it was fighter jets and power lines, and rumors of the American army. The French Foreign Legion showed up late, and was eaten for its involvement. (Algeria rejoiced, and feted the two in salons and street-corners.) The mood hadn't quite been spoiled yet; however, they took their leave of France all the same (Algeria was sorely disappointed), and left from the southern coast.

It was impossible, and it wouldn't last. The ape may sing of destruction and freedom and base instincts, but he knew that in the end it would not be enough. For now, though….

The sea held him warmly, like another lover. And between the waves and the other's arms, as a curse he forgot himself and was laid to sleep.

* * *

Author notes:

(1) I realized, that since Godzilla was based on King Kong, and King Kong was older, it should be _sempai/kohai_! Only then, I remembered that I don't know how to write the conventions of that. Sorry. (I do hope that the bittersweet seishun of it all did come through, though.)

(2) _Gojira_ actually comes from "_gorilla_" plus "_kujira_". Hence the comment about the names.

(3) Actually, as you can tell, it's really an allegory about the futility of French resistance to global popular culture.

(4) And as you can see, it's really at heart a threesome: King Kong/Gojira/Mediterranean (OT3, dare I say?)

(5) This was a challenge I was given in 2004, fully intended to break my spirits. I was unbroken then! Not broken yet! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!


End file.
